A Neat Prank
by TardisBluePen
Summary: We all know Holmes can be a little OCD when it comes to his room. Everything must always be in its proper place. So what happens when Watson decides to play a little prank…? With the help of Mrs. Hudson, of course. Friendship only. R&R please!


**A/N: **This was written in about 1 hour. I read it over a couple times and liked it. I did not put days of work into this as I normally do with all my other stories. But I still like it, and I'm hoping you will, too.

Small appearance by Mrs. Hudson, cos we don't see enough of her. :) and a cameo appearance of a very famous prank...

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. But I DO have...well, nothing. I would be making short movies (instead of writing fanfiction) if I owned a shred of anything. xD

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One day, as Holmes stumbled into his room after a boxing match and needing to relax, he realized he couldn't find his violin…or his gun…or his hidden bottle of some anonymous alcoholic beverage. The curtains were pulled back, and there was an unnecessary amount of sunlight shining in. In fact, he noticed that his entire room looked rather…neat, and tidy, and not at all like his room.

"Watson!"

Upon hearing the panicky voice, Watson could only assume that Holmes had stumbled upon his little prank—a good idea, cleaning up the detective's room while he was out. He grinned to himself, and took his time walking the couple steps to Sherlock's room, wondering how well his companion would be taking things.

The sight that met his eyes upon entering the room was entirely expected—although a bit alarming: Holmes was hyperventilating, running around the room, and throwing things around, possibly to put them back to their "proper places."

Holmes turned around suddenly when he heard Watson's low chuckle.

"Why are you laughing, Watson?" he asked incredulously. "This is not funny, this--" he gestured to the unusually tidy room, "is chaos. Everything is always in its proper place Watson, how am I supposed to find anything when it's not where it's supposed to be?"

"Everything IS where it's supposed to be now, Holmes--"

"On the contrary Watson, these aren't," and Holmes began taking books from their shelves and placing them at random points around the room. "These aren't," and he threw newspapers across the room in a frenzied movement. "And neither is this," and he slid his chair over to his door, so that anyone who tried opening his door from the outside wouldn't be able to get it more than an inch open.

Watson sighed as Holmes settled himself down in his chair. "Now, where's my gun?" he asked, looking around the room.

Watson reluctantly pulled the gun out of one of the drawers in the desk and handed it to his companion.

"Ah, thank you Watson." And with those words, Holmes cocked the gun, and put a few bullets in the walls, breathing a sigh of content relief.

As Watson turned to leave, he realized he couldn't get the door open. "Uh, Holmes…"

Holmes turned his head ever so slightly. Looking up at the doctor with puppy-dog eyes, he asked, "Where's my violin, Watson?" Watson rolled his eyes at the sound of the helplessness in his companion's voice. He pulled the violin down from another shelf and handed it to Holmes.

After taking the violin, Holmes scooted his chair ever-so-slightly forward, allowing Watson barely enough room to slip out.

As soon as the door snapped shut, Watson could hear more sudden crashes and other loud sounds emanating from the room; he could hear the curtains being pulled haphazardly closed, and a certain nervous voice carried above all the noise, asking no one in particular, "Where is that bottle of alcohol?"

Watson just shook his head and continued downstairs.

Once he was downstairs, the doctor ran into Mrs. Hudson, their landlady. "How is Mr. Holmes doing?" she asked.

"Not very well, I'm afraid," replied Watson, pouring himself some tea. "It's been only 5 minutes since he arrived back, and he's already managed to put the room back in its regular state."

Mrs. Hudson smirked. "It was a good idea, doctor. But I'm afraid there's no changing Mr. Holmes." She said. "No matter how many times we clean up in there, he's going to change it back. He just enjoys living in that pigsty of a room, I guess."

"Yes, I suppose so…" Watson said thoughtfully, and the two of them sat together in silence, until—

"You don't suppose, the next time he goes out, we could somehow put his entire room on the ceiling…"

Mrs. Hudson just grinned.

**FIN.  
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**PLEASE REVIEW! you will make me so happy if you do! and if you read my last story, you'll know that I have a certain detective and his doctor waiting in my closet....they'd really appreciate a visit from you guys. if you guys review...;)

also, if you guys want, I **could **make a two-shot out of this, possibly write that little suggestion Watson made at the end of the story...review and let me know, please! :3**  
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